where secrets lurk like ladybugs
on undersides of leaves.
fears, failures, bad habits,
uncivilized thoughts,
unseemly desires.
I used to think of Richard Nixon
sitting on the edge of his bed
early in the morning,
wondering how he got caught up
in such turmoil, such contradictions,
how did his soul get encased in Nixon?
The endpoint of meditation is to know
i am not my thoughts,
i am not my feelings,
i am not my body,
i am not anything that changes,
i am not anything that ends.
whether we are sitting on a throne,
or sitting on death row,
it just happens until it's too late to unhappen,
and there we are,
beloved children of life.
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